Chapter Two:
Suffer
The fight was over; Kim and Ron had won once again, and Drakken's most ambitious plan had come to a spectacularly pathetic conclusion, just as Shego had figured it would. She could commend Drakken for playing things so close to the vest and being secretive, but he could have done certain things far better, particularly the whole synthodrone debacle. If he'd let her in on it, she could have given him advice; after all, despite her rage and glowing powers, she was indeed female and had a better understanding of the female brain than her employer.
As rain poured down on the broken lair, Shego began to slink out, trying to get away quietly. Drakken had breached their unspoken agreement by not trusting her to help, so she'd get away and let him rot in prison for a few weeks. That insipid blue glow caught her eye as Kimmie stepped out of the shadows to confront her. "You know what I really hate?" the teen asked in a sickly sweet voice. Shego didn't really care; she just wanted to avoid a fight. She was pretty sure something was broken, and wanted to get away before she suffered any more injuries. "Uh, that your boyfriend melted?" she offered sardonically. "No," Kim replied, her lips splitting into a slasher smile, "you." Lunging forward, Kim put all of the battlesuit's force into one vicious side kick, throwing all of her negligible weight behind the blow.
If the air hadn't been forced from her lungs, Shego would have screamed as her ribs shattered. She found the voice to scream as she impacted the transmission tower, thousands of volts surging through her body. Any normal person would have been killed several times over, but her spasmodic plasma discharge helped to soften the blow and melt the circuits before she could be fried further.
Kim stood smiling at the carnage, feeling that she'd finally gotten her vengeance. For whatever reason, she blamed Shego for all of her pain, not Drakken. Dusting herself off and letting the rain carry away whatever else hadn't been brushed away, Kim headed back to Middleton High to attend her prom.
Shego had been conscious through it all. Her determination to cling to life, her powers, her regenerative abilities, and her rage all helped to keep her awake as purest pain flowed like blood through her veins. Now, as she looked at her charred catsuit, melted onto her battered and seared body, her vision began to fade. No, she insisted, I will not fall unconscious. I will stay awake. I will live. I won't be beaten, not like this. Her body ignored her orders, and her eyelids fell shut like heavy blast doors. Blackness enveloped her.
— — — — —
A spark of green pierced the darkness. The tiny spark, little more than a pilot light, seemed to feed on an unseen fuel, and began to grow. Along with the roar of verdant flame, a primal scream echoed through the darkness, rising in volume to become deafening, like the howl of a jet engine.
Beside her bed, the recently acquired EEG monitor began to beep. For the first time in more than 48 hours, Shego was dreaming.
— — — — —
Kim's eyes snapped open as she let out a startled squeak. The alarm was buzzing. She reached over and slapped her clock, switching off the obnoxious sound, and blinked at the time. For the past three years, she had always woken up at 5:58, beating her alarm by two minutes. Not only that, but she was completely exhausted. Kim's eyes threatened to fall shut almost immediately after she opened them.
Kim tumbled out of bed, barely dragging herself to a standing position as she halfheartedly gathered up her clothes and ambled to the shower, where she kept the water heat significantly lower than usual in an attempt to wake herself up. She succeeded, but now she faced a perpetual adrenaline high. It was as though any stimulus at all sent her into full fight-or-flight mode. She shook off the questions that this raised, inadvertently slapping herself in the face with her long red hair.
Once her shower was over, Kim toweled off, got dressed, and staggered downstairs. "Hi mom, dad," she said listlessly. Both of her parents looked up at her, immediately concerned. "Kimmie-cub," her father said as he stared at her pale face and baggy eyes, "are you okay? You don't look well."
Kim shrugged. "Didn't sleep well," she mumbled as she grabbed some orange juice and sugary cereal, and poured a cup of coffee for the road. Her head nearly sagged into the bowl, her fiery hair forming a curtain around the bowl reminiscent of an old-time circular shower.
"Kimberly Anne…" her mother said to get her attention. Using her middle name always called to attention that the topic was serious. Using her last name as well signaled that things were about to get real. "Did you have bad dreams? I'm worried about you after what happened with Eric and those horrible devil-things."
Kim bristled at the mention of Eric, but she was too tired to fully react; it was more of a toothbrush-bristle instead. "Didn't dream," she mumbled. Anne scrutinized what she could see of her daughter through the wall of hair. "Well, if you're having trouble sleeping or are feeling tense, maybe you'd like to talk with somebody about it, professionally? I know a sleep therapist at the hospital who might be able to help." Of course, the surgeon was shortening her coworker's title: he was actually a sleep specialist and licensed psychotherapist, but what Kim didn't know wouldn't discourage her.
Kim nodded, some of her hair dipping into her cereal. "Might do that. Gonna go see Ron today, though. We're going to the mall," she murmured. And with that, she knocked back the entire cup of coffee and staggered out of the house.
"Have fun," Anne called after her daughter, though her heart wasn't in it. She turned back to her husband. "James, something's troubling our daughter."
"Yes, I might have to put aside my black-hole probe schematics for now," James replied, concern heavy in his voice. He looked down to find his schematics missing. Now distracted from one problem by another, he leapt to his feet. "Boys!"
— — — — —
Ron lay sprawled on his messy bed beside his constant companion, an intelligent naked mole rat. "Rufus, old buddy, life's looking up for the Ron-man. I'm gonna be a senior this year, I actually got to be a hero for real's this time, and I'm dating the most wonderful girl in the world."
"Mm-hm, mm-hm," Rufus nodded, making kissy noises. "Smoochin'!"
Their discussion was interrupted by the doorbell. "I'll get that, pal. You see if you can find where that naco smell's coming from," Ron said as he stood up. Rufus gulped as he looked at Ron's warzone of a room and all the crevices where old food could be hiding.
The blonde opened the door to find his girlfriend teetering on the doorstep. "KP! Are you alright? You don't look so hot," he commented as he looked at her withered complexion. Kim leaned forward, falling into his arms and kissing him as though she had all the energy in the world. "'m just tired. Le's go siddown…"
Ron half-led, half-carried Kim over to the sofa. He counted his blessings that his parents had gone off to some conference or other, and had decided that he could be trusted to maintain the house in their stead. As he sat down with her, she immediately crawled into his lap, straddling him as she kissed him furiously, pressing her lithe, muscular body against his. "K-KP, what's gotten into you? You look so tired, but–" Kim silenced him by pressing a finger to his lips. "Ssshhh," she whispered, her eyes smoky and seductive, and apparently losing their bagginess. "I'm feeling better already."
He'd admit that Kim was acting a tad weird, but he had a beautiful girl in his lap demanding attention, so he'd worry about her condition after he'd helped cheer her up. Ron threw his arms around his girlfriend and pulled her flush against him, crushing his lips against hers.
— — — — —
Drakken was almost giddy. Actually, scratch that. He was indeed giddy, doing a little happy dance reminiscent of a deranged blue Snoopy. "Will you stop that?" the M.D. snapped. "It's distracting."
"But she's dreaming, doc," Drakken said as he moved into a bad Riverdance imitation. "That means that she's coming out of her coma, right?"
"Possibly, but she's still suffering from massive injuries and her body functions differently from yours and mine." The doctor took another look at the blue man. "Well, differently from mine, anyway. You're blue, so who knows. Anyway," he continued as he walked around Shego's bed, examining her various scanners and meters, "she is regenerating, but it's taking much longer than what is apparently normal for her. As far as I can tell, she came as close to death as one can get without actually dying, so her body is probably going to be in full shutdown mode until she's back up to speed, which could take who-knows how long."
"Can't we hurry it along?" Drakken asked impatiently.
"Possibly, but I really don't want to risk it. There's no telling how any drugs would react with her altered physiology, especially with her regenerative abilities firing on all metaphorical cylinders."
"So, we just wait?" the blue scientist asked. He received a nod in reply. "Well, poopy."
— — — — —
He laid out his outfit: slacks, black; dress shoes, black; dress socks, black; silk shirt, black; suit coat, black; leather gloves, black; reinforced mask, black. He wasn't very well-known yet, or really known at all, so he figured he could get away with flying standard villain air and not worry about people asking too many questions.
He'd drawn up his overarching plan, committed it to memory, and then burned the papers and scattered the ashes. Step one was to ingratiate himself to a certain big-time villain. Step two, now that was the fun part.
He snapped shut his attaché case, the only accessory of his that was not black, stuffed his mask in his pocket for later use, and used his remote to check out of the hotel. It was slower but less stressful than dealing with the insipid concierge service, after all.
